And so a tender Father kept him free, With all the largeness of his love, for me - For me, unworthy such a precious gift!
Yet I will bend each effort of my life To grow in grace and goodness, and to lift My soul and spirit to his lofty height, So to deserve that holy name, his wife.
Sweet friend, it fills my whole heart with delight To breathe its long hid secret in your ear.
Speak, my Maurine, and say you love to hear!"
The while she spoke, my active brain gave rise To one great thought of mighty sacrifice And self-denial. Oh! it blanched my cheek, And wrung my soul; and from my heart it drove All life and feeling. Coward-like, I strove To send it from me; but I felt it cling And hold fast on my mind like some live thing; And all the Self within me felt its touch And cried, "No, no! I cannot do so much - I am not strong enough--there is no call."
And then the voice of Helen bade me speak, And with a calmness born of nerve, I said, Scarce knowing what I uttered, "Sweetheart, all Your joys and sorrows are with mine own wed.
I thank you for your confidence, and pray I may deserve it always. But, dear one, Something--perhaps our boat-ride in the sun - Has set my head to aching. I must go To bed directly; and you will, I know, Grant me your pardon, and another day We'll talk of this together. Now good-night, And angels guard you with their wings of light."
I kissed her lips, and held her on my heart, And viewed her as I ne'er had done before.
I gazed upon her features o'er and o'er; Marked her white, tender face--her fragile form, Like some frail plant that withers in the storm; Saw she was fairer in her new-found joy Than e'er before; and thought, "Can I destroy God's handiwork, or leave it at the best A broken harp, while I close clasp my bliss?"
I bent my head and gave her one last kiss, And sought my room, and found there such relief As sad hearts feel when first alone with grief.
The moon went down, slow sailing from my sight, And left the stars to watch away the night.
O stars, sweet stars, so changeless and serene!
What depths of woe your pitying eyes have seen!
The proud sun sets, and leaves us with our sorrow, To grope alone in darkness till the morrow.
The languid moon, e'en if she deigns to rise, Soon seeks her couch, grown weary of our sighs; But from the early gloaming till the day Sends golden-liveried heralds forth to say He comes in might; the patient stars shine on, Steadfast and faithful, from twilight to dawn.
And, as they shone upon Gethsemane, And watched the struggle of a God-like soul, Now from the same far height they shone on me, And saw the waves of anguish o'er me roll.
The storm had come upon me all unseen:
No sound of thunder fell upon my ear; No cloud arose to tell me it was near; But under skies all sunlit, and serene, I floated with the current of the stream, And thought life all one golden-haloed dream.
When lo! a hurricane, with awful force, Swept swift upon its devastating course, Wrecked my frail bark, and cast me on the wave Where all my hopes had found a sudden grave.
Love makes us blind and selfish; otherwise I had seen Helen's secret in her eyes; So used I was to reading every look In her sweet face, as I would read a book.
But now, made sightless by love's blinding rays, I had gone on unseeing, to the end Where Pain dispelled the mist of golden haze That walled me in, and lo! I found my friend Who journeyed with me--at my very side - Had been sore wounded to the heart, while I, Both deaf and blind, saw not, nor heard her cry.
And then I sobbed, "O God! I would have died To save her this." And as I cried in pain, There leaped forth from the still, white realm of Thought Where Conscience dwells, that unimpassioned spot As widely different from the heart's domain As north from south--the impulse felt before, And put away; but now it rose once more, In greater strength, and said, "Heart, wouldst thou prove What lips have uttered? Then go, lay thy love On Friendship's altar, as thy offering."
"Nay!" cried my heart, "ask any other thing - Ask life itself--'twere easier sacrifice.
But ask not love, for that I cannot give."
"But," spoke the voice, "the meanest insect dies, And is no hero! heroes dare to live When all that makes life sweet is snatched away."
So with my heart, in converse, till the day, In gold and crimson billows, rose and broke, The voice of Conscience, all unwearied, spoke.
Love warred with Friendship, heart with Conscience fought, Hours rolled away, and yet the end was not.
And wily Self, tricked out like tenderness, Sighed, "Think how one, whose life thou wert to bless, Will be cast down, and grope in doubt and fear!
Wouldst thou wound him, to give thy friend relief?
Can wrong make right?"
"Nay!" Conscience said, "but Pride And Time can heal the saddest hurts of Love.
While Friendship's wounds gape wide and yet more wide, And bitter fountains of the spirit prove."
At length, exhausted with the wearing strife, I cast the new-found burden of my life On God's broad breast, and sought that deep repose That only he who watched with sorrow knows.